Can You Save Me Now?
by AntebellumHope
Summary: Pre-movie. I'm trying not to think about where I am or how I've been or what I've done. None of those questions have answers that can stick to me. Not anymore.


PROLOGUE

"Father, forgive me for I have killed a man."

I'm trying not to think about where I am or how I've been or what I've done. None of those questions have answers that can stick to me. Not anymore.

I drew a line in the sand a long time ago, separating me and them. A dare. They couldn't cross that line and go back in one piece.

I didn't know it worked both ways.

"I...I lost control. I lost my temper. I lost...you."

Small, dark, and cornered. That about sums it up. There's no wind here but plenty of glass. Rose-colored, rose-shaped, and scattered over the altar and the pews. Not much is left of the building. It was abandoned decades ago. I think it was once a part of the Underground Railroad or something. It'd be something to check out later.

"Don't even know why I'm doing this anymore. What's the point?"

My legs are shaking from the run. How far was it? A few feet, a few miles? Too far and yet not far enough. If he comes for me...if...if he comes, I'll hear him. I really hope he doesn't. I feel sick enough as it is, and vomiting all over his feet wouldn't be the best way to break this to him. If I do.

"I'm losing myself here. I can't..._why would you teach me _this_? _You've honed me into the most dangerous weapon I know, and I can't control it! I can't...I'm not you."

No longer a son but a tool. An extension of him. His justice, his revenge, his hatred.

No longer a son but a murderer. A criminal. A crime.

The crimson stains on my hands flake as they dry. I didn't think there would be that much blood. I didn't think flesh was that soft...that warm…he never told me what to expect.

Probably because he never expected this.

And if he comes for me...if...if he comes, I'll hear him. I really hope he doesn't. There's enough sin in the sanctuary as it is.

"I thought you'd take care of me. I thought...I thought you'd save me..._from this!"_

I thrust my hands at the crucifix, all too aware of the irony. I want to bury my face. I want to scream. I want to break the damned silence in the ruins with unholy shouts for either justice or mercy.

"I want to die. Please."

The bed of rose glass barely supports me as I rest. I'm tired of running, of fighting, of trying.

I hear him. I don't know how long he's been here or what he's heard. A hand passes in front of my eyes. Good. He's going for my throat. Quick but painful. And fair to everyone.

_Beat. Beat. Beat._

His fingers are firm on my carotid artery, prolonging the sick heartbeat in my ears. His touch is gentle. "What happened to you."

It's more of a statement than a question. He knows. He knows exactly what happened to me. So what does he want? An admission?

"...you...did…"

"...I...?"

His hand stiffens. The pressure on my neck increases and the world begins to tilt.

"_Stay with me!"_

"...father…"

I think the last sound I hear is someone choking. I wonder if it was him or me.

~*.*~

I think the first sound I hear is someone choking.

"Easy, now. I'm removing the ventilator…"

I gag as the painfully long tube slides out of my windpipe, and my lungs chug air on their own. It feels like it's been a while since they have. My hands are itching and stiff when I flex them. They've been wrapped up.

Most of the time when I wake up and all my world comprises is a pair of steel grey eyes, I don't remember how it got to that point. Unfortunately, it doesn't happen all of the time.

"You were incredibly lucky. By the time I found you, one of your lungs had collapsed and you had lost nearly half of your blood."

I can't look at him. 'Cause I know he knows.

I learned many things well from him. Stoicism was one of them. He knows I'm not ready to talk, and I doubt I ever will be, and I hope that maybe he doesn't know _everything_ like he thinks he does.

He leaves no audible footfalls when he moves. If one doesn't know him, he appears to vanish. If one knows him well, one knows he is gone when the only light in this personal hell suddenly extinguishes itself. And my room just got much, much colder.

"Forgive me, father." I whisper to whoever or whatever is listening.

_I already have._

"I...lost you."

_I know._

A smooth hand accompanies the voice I'm not sure is real. It traces my brow. If I blink, my mother's favorite necklace - a simple gold cross - flashes across my view.

"I tried believing in you once, father."

In unison. "_Try again_."


End file.
